The Bourne FailSafe
by Zen Lon
Summary: There is always a fail-safe, a backup plan in case anything goes wrong. At Treadstone, something went wrong, and its up to Gabriel Fox, the shadow cell to hunt down the rogue, Jason Bourne.
1. The Sub

The Bourne Fail-Safe  
  
Russian Nuclear Submarine – Striker Class – North Atlantic - 1993  
  
Boris Mitovich pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket. Shaking the package he grabbed it and stuck in his mouth, lighting it and taking a long draft. Ah, he sighed, Russian cigarettes, the best ever made, unlike their weak American counterparts. Taking a few more puffs he took it out of his mouth and smothered it in the ashtray.  
"Captain. We are arriving at checkpoint one comrade. Our orders are to rise to the service and contact headquarters," the Yeoman, Petril Petovsky reported.  
"Da. Raise us to periscope depth. Prepare the broadcast equipment," Boris ordered lazily. He stood up, stretching his legs having been sitting down for nearly two hours. Boris all around his ship was nicknamed the "lazy captain," being as he spent most of his time sitting down. But during a battle, he was an unrivaled tactician, and could best any enemy sub.  
"Comrade Captain! We have a radiation leak!" a breathless sailor said, running up. By the looks of his uniform he was from engineering.  
"What do you mean we have a radiation leak? All the badges from the last batch were tested negative," Boris demanded.  
"There is no mistaking. We have a leak Captain," the sailor replied, but was suddenly silenced. The entire submarine went silent. The clock ticked the seconds, when several compressed within a matter of second gun reports echoed through the hull. There was a clunk of metal against metal, the sound of a man reloading his weapon, when the gunfire restarted.  
"Captain! What do we do!" a terrified COM officer shouted.  
"Shut up," Boris said, the words somewhat less lazy, "Petril, Nimoskvy, Asaknov, follow me. And get yourself armed."  
"But Captain. Our orders?" Petril said.  
"Continue rising. We will broadcast our distress call when we reach the surface, and prepare to vent all chambers," Boris called back. He pulled out his pistol and motioned for his hand picked team to follow him.  
  
Gabriel Fox crouched, leaning against the bulkhead wall, feeling the metal vibrate beneath him, and listening to oncoming footsteps. Checking his watch on the timer he set on the reactor he glanced down the hall way again, making sure it was safe. Reaching into his pants pocket he reloaded his gun. Making sure the first bullet was locked into place, he moved from his position, taking note of everything around him so he could make his quick escape to his makeshift life raft.  
"Petril go left. Nimoskvy go right. Asaknov come with me. He's in the missile chamber," Boris said, unaware that Gabriel had heard everything. Gabriel smiled to himself. The fools were splitting apart. He wouldn't even need his gun for this. He holstered it, and jammed himself into a small corner in between the bulkhead separating the hydraulics and the missile tubes. Boris and Asaknov passed, not noticing Gabriel.  
Moving quickly, he came up behind him. Grabbing Boris' right arm he bent it sideways, breaking the arm while grabbing his forearm and flexing his middle tendon, forcing him to pull the guns trigger. Three shells slammed into Asaknov's torso, who crumpled. But to make sure, Gabriel wrenched Boris' gun away from him, planting two shells into Asaknov's head, while breaking Boris' neck in the same movement as disassembling the gun with one hand.  
Listening to the shouts he pulled his own gun out, and moved downwards toward the end of the hydraulics chamber. Both Petril, and Nimoskvy appeared, looking dead straight at Gabriel. Both hesitated a fatal second to look at their dead captain, his head turned at an odd angle. Two gun reports, two thumps and both men fell, holes in their head.  
Smiling to himself, Gabriel ran back into the missile tube, climbing into his makeshift life raft, an empty missile shell, with an air bladder, and a parachute and inflatable raft inside, he made sure the GPS tracking unit on his vest was on, and shut the missile tube door. Pulling out a glow stick he cracked it open to give himself enough light to see the depth meter. 200 ft. 180 ft. 160. 140. 120. 100. 80. 60. 40. 20. 0. He flipped the switch and the missile launched.  
  
"Grensky! We have a positive lock on a launched missile! Missile tube four!" Sonar man Tupolov shouted.  
"Lock it down. We still have the emergency fail-safe detonation. The Americans must not know of this," Grensky shouted. The Sonar man rapidly input the commands into the fail-safe console.  
"Comrade! It is not working!"  
"What! Everything has a fail-safe."  
"Comrade! The reactor is melting down."  
"Override controls not responding. Fail-safes on all systems have been destroyed!"  
"Oh no," Grensky said softly, and as though the final word out of his mouth, was the signal to death, his dreams, thoughts, and life were put to an end as the reactor exploded and sent the missile submarine straight to its dark watery grave.  
  
Gabriel watched the submarine go down with satisfaction. One down, he thought, so many to go. But his job was done. For now. 


	2. Dead Man Walking

Chapter 2: Dead Man Walking

11 years later

Gabriel lay on his couch in his New York home, his arms flexed behind his head, as he lounged about. He was tired as well as mentally exhausted. A lifetime worth of training and now at the age of 42 he felt so old. Glancing to his right, he looked at the table, a .9 mm piece and a Motorola cell phone lying next to each other. He sighed to himself. What had he gotten himself into.

"Excuse me Mr. Fox. You have a phone call," a sensual female voice filled the room. Fox smiled, one of the advantages of working for Treadstone, good money.

"I'll take it in the living room," Gabriel replied. Sitting up, and stretching out his stiff shoulder, he picked up the receiver.

"Who is this," Gabriel asked, his demeanor of relaxation vanishing.

"Shadow Cell," the voice replied, Gabriel sat stock straight.

"Treadstone fail-safe. Protocol 2-8-1," the voice said again.

"Rogue agent?" Gabriel asked.

"Jason Bourne."

Jason Bourne had lost his direction in life. The woman he loved and trusted murdered. His mind in a shambles having remembered who he finally was, and now, he was lost, not knowing where to go, where to move, how to live anymore. But his survival instinct, the killer instinct ingrained by his training kept him moving, thinking, alive.

"Sumimasen," a voice called out at him. He spun, to see a smiling Japanese girl tugging his coat.

"Nan desu ka?" Jason asked, smiling back. The little girl pointed at a map in her hand, indicating the building. Jason chuckled at her again; she wanted to go to the mall.

"Doko?" she asked, pointing at the map again. Jason knelt down, and patted her head, pointing to his right.

"Ako," he answered, pointing out a building several blocks down the road. The little grinned widely, flashing her teeth in a very grateful smile.

"Onamae wa nan desu ka?"

"Jason," he answered. She laughed, then pointed at herself.

"Aiko," she answered.

"Ja? Aiko no namae wa kawaii desune," Jason said.

"Arigatou Jason-san," she answered, and smiling as though him giving her his name and directions was the greatest thing that ever happened to her, she ran off quickly into the distance. She was incredibly informal, meaning she must somehow have known to trust him. Jason sighed. He didn't even know who to trust anymore. Jason stood back up and gazed back in her direction one more time, before turning, and walking off in the opposite way.

LAX, Los Angeles, 4:15 AM

Gabriel Fox exited the small private jet, which had touched down not twenty minutes ago. Shielding himself with his coat jacket from the buffeting wakes of landing jets, he looked at the phenomenon that was flight. Flight had always fascinated Gabriel, a pity he could never fly.

"Gabriel Fox?" a man shouted over the noise of rumbling airliner engines.

"That's me," Gabriel answered.

"We have a car waiting for you, follow me please," the man shouted. Gabriel nodded, and followed him to the loading area, where a car waited. The man opened the door for Gabriel, who ducked his head and stepped inside. But the moment he stepped inside, he felt the press of a cold gun barrel against his head, scanning the inside, three armed men, four including the man with a piece against his temple.

"Gabriel Fox. You are under arrest," the man in the far corner said simply. Gabriel smiled. Four against one, it hardly seemed fair.

"What's he smiling for," a man in the left corner demanded, he reached forward to attempt to hit Gabriel. A fatal mistake. The moment the arm rose for a strike, Gabriel grabbed the gun and disassembled the loading slide, while grabbing the mans wrist, and twisting it at an odd angle to make him drop the weapon. With his right arm, he blocked the strike took hold of his assailants arm, and pulled it back around, all the while, moving so he was directly behind the driver seat.

"You shoot," Gabriel threatened, relieving his hostage of his gun, "I send us all to hell."

"Calm down sir," the man, who's head was in a lock.

"Put down your pieces," Gabriel demanded. Then, the separation window between Gabriel, and yet again, the cold press of a gun chilled his temple.

"I'm really getting tired of this," Gabriel said annoyed.

"Gabriel. Don't start," the man said. Gabriel turned to see a man in a black suit. The director of the Treadstone program. Simon Wells, the man who funded the program. With both the old leaders dead, he pulled the strings on the last Treadstone agent. Which turned out to be Gabriel.

"What now," Wells said.

"I can still send us to hell," Gabriel smiled, "would you like me to."

"Pah. What a waste of money," Wells snorted, "your file."

"Let me out of this car," Gabriel demanded.

"How long."

"I'll get the job done. Don't you dare ask me how long," Fox snapped. Wells regretted having taken in the orphan. He was too independent, unlike the rest of them who were just business. This man had a mouth on him. Wells nodded to the driver who pulled over.

"Fine. Get the job done," Wells said.

"Shut up," Gabriel said, his voice breathing icicles of malice, he took the gun in his hand and pointed it at Wells, "besides. You can't bluff. All these guns are empty."

"How'd you know."

"Cause you didn't shoot me," Gabriel grinned, opened the door, and left the car with one man holding his broken wrist, and the others shocked. Just for added effect, Gabriel pulled out his own gun, fired two rounds into both tires, and walked away.

"Damn him," Wells swore, "damn him."

Patricia Landy, clacked away at her computer. She was exhausted at the mound of paperwork she had to do because of the case with Jason Bourne. Making someone dead was difficult enough, when he was still alive and well. Even more difficult, was killing a man meant to be a ghost. But she was glad it was over, glad the great battle had ended.

"Landy," her boss, Alfred Francis shouted, "my office. Now."

"Yes sir," she answered. Getting up and putting her computer on suspend, she walked into her boss' room, sitting down in a chair.

"This is a fiasco, Landy. Agents dead. The secret is out, and still we have one predicament. Jason Bourne isn't dead," Alfred said.

"What are you talking about. Bourne is dead," Landy demanded, "he died in Africa. You know the case. He was framed."

"Explain this then," Alfred answered angrily, and threw a stack of pictures down on the table.

"I can't sir," Landy answered.

"I want answers Landy. I want answers now."

"Sir?"

"I mean it. I want Jason Bourne dead."

Jason climbed the steps to his new apartment in Los Angeles. Having hacked into the Social Security, CIA, and FBI computer systems, had created for himself a new identify. One he could hide under. One he could live alone in. one in which, he could figure himself out. It was a cowardly move he had to admit. But for now, he would take it, to give himself enough time, to sort things out. He looked at his new modified passports. Jonathan Sureno, has a nice ring to it.

"Mr. Sureno, what time would you like your wake up call?" a voice chimed over the PA system inside his new house.

"7:00 please," Jason replied.

"Very well then. Would you like room service?" she asked.

"No I'm fine," he replied. He clicked off the PA system and sat down on his new couch. Sighing to himself, his mind still reeled from his sudden recover from his Amnesia. But it seemed that with this new knowledge about himself. He was even more confused. Pulling out his cell phone, he systematically deleted all his numbers. Taking his gun out of his bag, he hid it inside his room. Hopefully he wouldn't have to use it, but no point in ever being unarmed.

Walking back into the living room, he picked up his bag, and tossed it beside his bed, too lazy to sort out his clothes. Climbing into bed he lay down, gazing at the ceiling and just thinking. At last, fatigue, got the better of him, and oddly for the first time, Jason Bourne fell asleep, his mind, free of dreams.


End file.
